


Cold Lands, Cold Hearts, Cold Claws.

by AimlessCat



Series: Tales told in Tandem [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Skyrim
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-16
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-08-31 08:32:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 18,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8571559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AimlessCat/pseuds/AimlessCat
Summary: The story of S'Zabe, a lost soul, looking for purpose in a land who already had it's own chosen hero.





	1. Sun and Sand

**Author's Note:**

> When Lien started his own, for fun, story based on his character, I decided to join him with my own. This will take into accounts what happens in 'Chronicles of Erik', though if that story will reference this one is remain to be seen.

It can be argued, that when one is born, their whole life has already been planned by fate. Who they are, who they are meant to be, all laid out into a road to be walked. Others, may say that when one is born, the whole world opens to them, endless paths to be walked, all intersecting and crisscrossing. No right path, no wrong path. All paths lead, eventually, to death. 

Which is right? Which is wrong? A world of destiny, or a world of choice?

Or, perhaps, it is both.

Endless roads to be walked, endless choices to be made. But for some, touched by fate, destiny, the gods themselves, a road has been paved. A road paved with strife and trails to be overcome. A road that rises above the rest, towards a glorious end to a life of glorious accomplishment. A road for heroes, those chosen for tasks too great for the common man, mer, or beast.

 

S'Zabe is not so lucky, as to be chosen for such great things, this one knows this. S'Zabe is but one of many, wandering lost on beaten paths, waiting to stumble upon death. No glory, no destiny, no great meaning to the life this one will live. S'Zabe knows this, and came to terms with it many moons ago. For khajiit come in many forms, as decided by Jode and Jone, Gods of the Moons. For S'Zabe, Jode was new, and Jone was waning. And so, S'Zabe was Suthey-raht. And so, S'Zabe was common in the eyes of the moons themselves. 

 

The warm touch of sun and sand on fur is S'Zabe's first memories. It is ingrained in them, buried deep within their bones. This one grew up among dunes of sand, wrestling with other kittens in their pride, falling with the warm, sun-touched sand to catch them. Living in the Elsweyr state of Anequina, S'Zabe's early life was roaming with their pride across the sands, following in the much larger footsteps of their father, a great Pahmar-raht, known to the tribe as Dar'Akar, for he had clever hands, skilled in many trades. S'Zabe's mother was from another tribe, and thus S'Zabe did not know her, only that when S'Zabe was born, she returned to her own tribe, and life went on in the great dunes of Elsweyr.

This is not to say that S'Zabe's family life was lacking. For their father, Dar'Akar, took S'Zabe and gave them all the tools they would ever need. Following in his steps, S'Zabe learned the basics of many things. Well among the sands, S'Zabe was taught to shoot an arrow, wield weapons of many kinds, how to craft liquids from what grew from the ground. Anything and everything Dar'Akar could teach, he taught. When he could not teach something, he brought teachers to them. To S'Zabe, Dar'Akar was their whole world. However, Dar'Akar seemed to be filled with great passion, for teaching S'Zabe. Driven, as if it was his singular purpose on this world.

Perhaps this was because Dar'Akar knew he would die, betrayed by his own body.

"Ma'Zabe, these hands of yours will be the key. Be smart, be clever, be crafty. These hands will make what you cannot buy, for all the gold in this world. Learn well, learn often, Dar'Akar's kitten, this ones Ma'Zabe. This one lives, and dies by the sands, and will live again in the Sands Behind the Stars. But you are not this one, you are S'Zabe now, and your own choices you must make. Live well, live long, this one will see you again, one day, among the Sands. This one loves you, now, until the end of time." 

And so, S'Zabe was left alone, surrounded by a tribe that suddenly did not feel like home. The loss of the father plagued S'Zabe, who at the time was still too young, too inexperienced, to truly be worthy of the title 'S'. And so, S'Zabe took off across the sands, into the deep jungles of Pelletine in the south. A few moons passed, with S'Zabe traveling alone, learning bits and pieces of trades where they could. But still, it was not home, and S'Zabe did not know where else to look, no where else but the sea.

At a port, S'Zabe bought passage to a land as different from Elsweyr as they could imagine. The cold lands of Skyrim seemed fitting, and so S'Zabe went. They sold everything they still had, taking only a few potions, a hood and hide armor, a bow, arrows, a dagger, and a hand-full of lockpicks. It was all they needed, really.

With a prayer to Khenarthi to protect their passage across the sea, S'Zabe boarded the ship, and turned their back to Elsweyr, turned their back to the sun and sand. 

And thus, S'Zabe was left to wander, alone and lost, in a world they did not know.


	2. Snow upon the Mountain

S'Zabe was overjoyed when the ship docked into the port at Windhelm. Despite the bite of the cold air, and the snow and ice on the ground, it was still land. Solid, glorious land beneath their feet. With one last goodbye to the crew, S'Zabe left. The Khajiit didn't feel a desire to step into the city, and so with a bit of luck, S'Zabe found a hunting party outside the city, consisting of two nord women cloaked in fur armor, heading into the mountains. Despite their wary gazes, they consented to S'Zabe tagging along.

For a moon, S'Zabe followed behind Anen and Ellne as they hunted in the mountains. The first few days were tense, but slowly and surely, the two nord women seemed to accept S'Zabe, and for that, the Khajiit was grateful.

Anen was a firey lass, eyes of bright amber, locks of deep red. She cussed often, but smiled and joked even more. She wasn't the sharpest shot, but S'Zabe had never seen a blade so deftly handled as it broke down the carcasses of the beasts they hunted. Ellne, in comparison, was dry humor, rolling of eyes, and snorts of amusement. A plain shade of brown hair, much like S'Zabe's own, but green eyes that seemed to dare anyone to open their mouths against her. When they left Windhelm, they told S'Zabe that they had enough tents, but upon setting the first camp up, S'Zabe noticed with surprise that there was in fact only two tents. But then, ears twitching at the sound of soft, words being spoken, S'Zabe's eyes caught a glimpse of fingers gliding across shoulders with untold gentleness, and S'Zabe understood. The moment broke however, when Anen saw S'Zabe looking. For a moment, both women where tense, but then S'Zabe couldn't fight off a grin. 

"Looks like you two will be warmer at night then this one.," S'Zabe laughed, tail flicking behind them pleasantly. "Khajiit is jealous! S'Zabe's fur provides surprisingly little defense against this lands cold winds, you know." A shrug accompanied S'Zabe's statement. After all, what could this one do, besides find an extra blanket?

Anen burst out into a wide grin. "Maybe the cold'll make your fur grow longer, cat!" Ellne didn't say anything, but cuffed Anen playfully over the head. Life went on for them, up on that mountain.

Some days were filled with hunting, stalking both prey and predator through the snow. Others, spent in camp, smoking meat and tanning furs. It was, pleasant, S'Zabe supposed. Peaceful, almost. But still, a tug at the heart pulled at the Khajiit. They didn't know what to do about it, but stare into the mountains and ponder.

A moon passed, in relative monotony. But soon, all things must come to an end. Anen and Ellne had to return to Windhelm, to sell their fares, and S'Zabe knew they would not be accompanying them.

They tried to give Khajiit a few of the untanned furs as parting gifts, but S'Zabe could not accept such kindness. Instead, gold exchanged hands, and S'Zabe moved on, descending the mountain alone, with not but 42 arrows, several furs, and only 400 gold left. All the savings they had in the world.

 

Ofcourse, the first living thing S'Zabe encountered were spiders. Horrible, horrible spiders. They made S'Zabe's fur stand on end.

Hissing in defiance, S'Zabe dived out of the way of a gob of poison, from a large hairy Frostbite Spider. Only S'Zabe's keen ears gave them enough warning to make the dodge in time to actually count. Whipping out their bow, an arrow was notched and fired as quickly as they could manage. It took 3 arrows, and a glob of poison seeping into S'Zabe through the leg, to take the damned thing out. 

Now, S'Zabe didn't exactly have any empty vials on hand, and these spiders had useful venom. Perhaps this could have been a problem, but in reality, it wasn't much of one. Well it was true that the venom could be drained into vials for easier use, one could also simply remove the entire venom sack. When done carefully enough, one was left with a small, sack of flesh filled with venom. It could be pierced on the tip of a weapon, to coat it in poison. Simple, and useful, if a bit messy. Taking the dagger from the sheath on their thigh, S'Zabe carefully dissected the spider for it's venom sack.

Unfortunately, this gave the spiders friends enough time to take notice of the Khajiit. A few stray arrows later, and S'Zabe had two more venom sacks carefully stashed away. 

Once more, S'Zabe was on the move. Climbing was as easy for the Khajiit as breathing. Some Khajiit's, like S'Zabe, had much greater jumping power then other races across Tamriel. Easily enough to reach the roof of a small house in one bound. So, down the mountain S'Zabe went, sliding across snowy rocks and claws digging into whatever they could find to steady the descent a bit. Easy as seeing in the dark. (Anen had been rather annoyed when S'Zabe proved to be the much more proficient hunting at the dark hours of the morning then her. She got over it....eventually.) S'Zabe saw a camp of a magic user, before he saw them. Two quick arrows, and the man was dead. Looting the area was as easy as breathing. There seemed to be some sort of mine opening in the side of the mountain, visable from where S'Zabe stood over the corpse of their once living foe. But S'Zabe had no desire to enter, so instead, they went into the broken down tower on the opposite side of the mine door, and made themselves comfortable. They had a few scavenged ingredients, and with the alchemy table inside, managed to make a single health potion. Not almost as good as the cheapest potion sold commonly, but not quite. A bottle of wine went down Khajiit's throat, a drop or two dribbling down the fur of their muzzle. With a belly pleasantly content with wine, S'Zabe carefully curled up in a make-shift hay bed left in the tower, and took a quick nap. Khajiit was light enough of a sleeper to hear should it come time to high-tail it out of the area.

A good 4 hours later, and S'Zabe was up. A glance at the sky told them that it was still another hour, most likely 2, before it was noon. An apple scavanged from the area provided enough substance to get Khajiit awake and moving, and soon Khajiit was disappeared into the wild.

Nothing much else of interest happened for a while, save the snow disappearing from the mountain and leaving grass in it's wake. Eventually, S'Zabe encountered a man and his pet wolf, guarding the entrance to a cave. Dodging both a wolf, and a man with a iron warhammer wasn't fun, but still do-able. Looting the carcasses was simple, and then S'Zabe dared to investigate the cave.

Crouching, S'Zabe moved quietly into the cave. Stopping near the entrance, S'Zabe's eyes took in all that was before them. The cave narrowed a bit the further it went down, until there was a tunnel about the size of a doorway. Standing guard in front of it, was a dark elf. S'Zabe pondered things for a moment, before taking out three arrows, and all three of their venom sacks. An arrow head pieced a sack each, allowing the thick substance to cling to the metal and a bit of the wooden shaft. Taking aim, still unseen by the soon to be dead elf, S'Zabe took aim. 

Two arrows pieced the shoulder and side of the man, before his eyes locked onto S'Zabe. A third arrow notched, but still the elf man stood. For a moment, S'Zabe wanted to curse. But as the elf raised its weapon to swing down at S'Zabe, the multitude of poison took it's hold, and with a gurgle, down the man went, leaving S'Zabe unharmed. S'Zabe took the weapon, but left the man's body alone. His armor was patheticly worn, and had nothing else of value anywhere on his person. Let the dead man keep his 'scraps' of armor. S'Zabe moved on.   
The tunnel lead to a balcony within a cave, and hidden, S'Zabe's blue eyes took in the scene below them.

It appeared to be some sort of wolf fighting ring, with spectators wandering about, and a barman keeping an eye on things. S'Zabe promptly turned around, and went right out from where they came. They didn't have enough arrows to take on this fighting ring, not to mention they were still considered novices when it came to actually fighting. Outside however, S'Zabe used a tanning rack to turn what furs they had from Anen and Ellne into leather and strips, and from there they crafted two box pouches, placed firmly next to each other along the small of S'Zabe's waist. Tucking the leftover strips away, S'Zabe moved onward.

When S'Zabe first saw a road, there were soldiers traveling along it. Blue-ish armor, unfamilar to the Khajiit, but still they new the men below were soldiers. It was all in how they walked, after all. Their body language spoke volumes. 

S'Zabe pondered their next move, watching with narrow eyes as the soldiers walked on. Catching their attention could prove to mean nothing but an order to stay away. Or, perhaps they would take offense and draw swords instead. S'Zabe took no chances. Lowering themselves down a few more rocks, and wiggling a bit in preparation, the Khajiit jumped. They cleared the road easily, and rolled onto the land on the other side, a controlled tumble as S'Zabe went with the flow and went down a small ledge on the other side of the road. Aside from a bit of dust, S'Zabe was perfectly fine. 

It was then, that S'Zabe heard the snarl. Ears pinned back in annoyance, eyes narrowing, S'Zabe went for their bow. Teeth lunged for S'Zabe's arm, but a kick knee to the wolf's throat prevented that, giving S'Zabe enough time to string an arrow, fired point blank. They hissed, going for another arrow as the creature seemed to power through the shot to it's chest. "Damned dog! Leave Khajiit, or Khajiit will wear your fur as trophy!" 

Another snarl, another wold coming. 

Great, juuuust great.

When all was said and done, S'Zabe had two new furs, and several broken down carcasses tossed around the area for other predators to find and consume. A gift to Hircine's hunters.

By then, the soldiers had moved on far enough, that Khajiit could circle back around to the road. This proved the correct decision, as it seemed the men had killed two wolves, who had killed a goat in turn. All the fur was left behind, ripe for the taking. And so, S'Zabe took. Another gift for Hircine, it seemed. Though S'Zabe kept a leg from the goat for themselves. After all, they could only carry so much. Onward the Khajiit went. 

As it turned out, traveling the road provided MANY more wolves to raise the hairs on Khajiit's neck. They didn't even know how many furs they had, in the end of it all. No time to stop and count. Aside from the many furs S'Zabe collected, flowers and ingredients lined the roads for S'Zabe's use. They collected whatever they saw, spending the necessary time to pick all they could. Against popular belief among those unfamilar with the workings of potion making, a single flower head was not enough for a single potion. One needed a certain amount to have enough for the process, all depending on the quality and size of the ingredients collected. A single patch of wild flowers typically only had enough for one potion. It was tedious, but S'Zabe left no flower patch uncollected.

Eventually, well on their way to 'Riften', as told by the signs on the road, S'Zabe encounterd a watch-tower, whose only occupants were the dead guards thrown around. S'Zabe had no hard feelings, taking what the dead men and women had. Though, they left the dead guards uniforms only. A hastily scrawled note inside the tower, 'Shor's Stone' was it's name based on the sign outside, and S'Zabe knew what happened to the dead nords. Legion soldiers happened. It was by then, that S'Zabe remembered that Skyrim was currently involving itself in a civil war. Pah, pointless wars, squabbles of brothers solved by clashing of blades. S'Zabe wanted nothing to do with it. S'Zabe moved on. 

There was a small mining town past the tower, also known as "Shor's Stone" from the looks of it. S'Zabe stayed long enough to smelt down all the iron weapons they had collected from the dead, as well as some ebony they 'found' for free by the smelter. Nobody seemed to mind when S'Zabe smelted it, and thus they didn't mind when S'Zabe left with an ingot.

Forward S'Zabe went, encountering nothing but wildlife. When S'Zabe saw a fort in the distance, S'Zabe simply went around it, which proved to be a smart decision.

S'Zabe encountered a farm and a road. And in the distance, as clear and welcoming as the sun, was a city.

S'Zabe had found Riften.


	3. Thief

As it turned out, Riften was a den a thieves. The guard at the door tried to scam gold out of S’Zabe before their paws ever entered the city. Of course, S’Zabe politely pointed out the obvious scam to the guard, with a flash of teeth, and all was good. Then a man gave thinly veiled threats for S’Zabe to not make any trouble. Not for the city, jarl, or even the guards. No, that man wanted S’Zabe to not make any trouble for the resident brewery owners. It set the vibe for the city very well, S’Zabe thought. It was dark when first entering the city, and it was under cover of that darkness that S’Zabe overheard tale of a poor stable-hand who’d obviously gotten scammed by a woman. After the two parted, the khajiit casually offered to sort it out for the young lad. S’Zabe caught the women, ‘Sapphire’ before she ever entered the local inn. It was solved as easily as the gate guards, with few words and at no cost to S’Zabe. The thankful stable-hand gave S’Zabe some potions for their work. S’Zabe would sell them the next morning.

And so it was, that on that night, S’Zabe entered ‘The Bee and The Barb’. A man was attempting to preach, and an Argonian man was trying to shush him. S’Zabe instead went to the counter, ordered food, drink, and room from Keerava, another argonian. S’Zabe could feel eyes running across their back. But Khajiit did not look for the source, did not draw a dagger. Instead, they took their food, and followed Keerava up the stairs towards all the rooms. S’Zabe was planning on eating in their room, but in a corner of the upstairs foyer, was a table against the wall, with enough seating for two. S’Zabe settled in there.

It proved a wise decision, when a nord settled in the chair next to S’Zabe.

His name was Brynjolf.

 

Words passed between them, and a deal was struck. Brynjolf had made a correct assumption, that S’Zabe was a thief. Honestly, it wasn’t a hard assumption to make, and frankly a bit of a stereotype. It was true that many Khajiit’s had sticky fingers, and S’Zabe had done quite a bit themselves when still in Elsweyr, to keep afloat between odd jobs. When offered a simple job, S’Zabe accepted easily. A job was a job, but perhaps more importantly, it was something for S’Zabe to do. A goal, a direction to go in. Since the loss of Dar’Akar, S’Zabe had been wandering aimlessly. Though the Khajiit wasn’t conscious of it, it would have been all too easy for anyone to claim S’Zabe’s service at that time. Anyone could have come across the Khajiit and offered them work, and they would have accepted. Brynjolf had simply come first, though neither of them realized this was the case.

 

The job was simple, steal a ring, plant it on someone. Easy. S’Zabe broke into the stand and lockbox in the night, and fiddled with them so they didnt have to spend time the next day unlocking them. Madesi would never know his box had been tampered with, S’Zabe was careful. Then, it was the task of carefully planting the ring on the elf. S’Zabe wasn’t the best pickpocket, but at that moment, slipping the ring into the victims pocket, S’Zabe vowed to get better.

And get better S’Zabe did.

 

After that job, Brynjolf challenged S’Zabe to get into the Flagon, undoubtedly knowing of the unforgiving residents of the sewers beneath Riften. S’Zabe did, and was promptly accepted into the guild. Well, accepted by everyone but the leader that is.

 

Mercer made the fur on S’Zabe’s neck rise, and staring him down in the middle of the cistern made S’Zabe feel like they should be prepared for a knife in the back. But, Mercer grudgingly accepted S’Zabe in on Brynjolf’s recommendation, though the man had a few scathing words about S’Zabe proving themselves before they would ever be considered a true member, and not just some grunt Brynjolf had picked up.

And so S’Zabe talked to Vex, and Delvin, taking two jobs at a time in the same city, throwing themselves into work.

 

After that, time started to blurr together. Days became weeks, and S’Zabe was lost in it.


	4. Time

S’Zabe first went to work in Whiterun, taking a ‘fishing’ job from Delvin, and a ‘heist’ from Vex. When S’Zabe originally heard of the skills required to do the jobs, they thought it would be a good way to improve their own skills, and do work for the guild. S’Zabe never really switched from doing those jobs, and soon Vex and Delvin stopped asking which jobs S’Zabe would take.

Taking both jobs in the same location, S’Zabe would travel as quickly between Riften and Whiterun as possible, taking no time to sleep. Sometimes, the Khajiit would take refuge in the local inn, explaining away their presence as running errands for some nord. Then, in the night, S’Zabe would sneak out of the inn, complete the jobs, and sneak back in. They would be gone in the morning, moving without stop back to Riften, where they would collapse in their designated bed, sleep for a few hours, before getting new jobs and setting out again.

The only break from work, was when S’Zabe spent hours at the forge in Whiterun, melting ingots and crafting shields, before melting the shields back down and starting again.  
It was a good way to practice the basics of smithing, and eventually S’Zabe designed their own armor, taking the basic ideas from the guild armor they had been issued. It didn’t have any enchantments, but it was tougher. Grey leather also blended nicely into S’Zabe’s own fur.

 

It went on like this for a while, how long, S’Zabe couldn’t be sure, but one day Delvin sent the Khajiit on a special job. It was easy, talking to some big-wig in Whiterun and a few errands in the jarl’s palace. The guards there were surprisingly lax, and didn’t bother to stop S'Zabe or look more into the excuse of ‘courier’. The whole job was done within a few hours, and S’Zabe was back taking jobs from Vex and Delvin as if nothing had happened. Although, they seemed more inclined to send S’Zabe to Solitude this time. 

Work blended together, time had no meaning, and S’Zabe was lost in the work assigned to them. Another special job, framing some sailor for one of the Jarl’s (Queen’s?) advisers. 

When S’Zabe next came in to the Flagon to turn in their job and get some new ones, it was Brynjolf who pulled S’Zabe aside, the red-headed nord’s face looking concerned, though S’Zabe had no idea why.

 

“Hey, lad, have a drink with me.” Brynjolf said, holding two bottles of Black Briar mead and motioning to a secluded table in the corner of the Flagon. S’Zabe raised an eyebrow, but shrugged and followed along. The Khajiit removed their backpack, and travel cloak, throwing one under the table and the other over the back of their chair. They sat, and Brynjolf handed them one of the mead bottles, which they opened, sniffing delicately. The Khajiit didn’t drink often, carrying some with them only to break up the monotony of water when on the road. Still, it wasn’t horrible, so the Khajiit sipped, keeping one blue eye on Brynjolf at all times.

Brynjolf didn’t seem to be drinking right away, simply leaning back and observing S’Zabe. When he finally did take a sip of his own mead, it was long and deliberate, and the nord set the drink down to lean forward, hands folded together. S’Zabe knew the look of someone who wanted to talk when they saw one. They set their mead aside, tail flicking behind them, ears pricked to listen. 

It took Brynjolf a few moments to speak, staring both at S’Zabe and the Flagon around them.

“You’ve been a good addition to the Guild, lad. Vex and Delvin tell me you take jobs nearly non-stop, without fail. And the effects of that are clearly seen. Just look around lad! We’ve got a solid foot in both Whiterun and Solitude, and two new merchants have even moved into the Flagon. You’ve been good for business.” The nord went on, gesturing around him to make his points. 

S’Zabe’s gaze didn’t waver from Brynjolf’s face. “Is there a problem? Khajiit has done good, no? This one has been doing as asked. As you said, good for business.”

Byrnjolf sighed, one hand brushing through his long hair. “Good for business lad, to a point. It’s not good for business when our members work themselves to death. Have you even taken a look at yourself lately, lad?” 

S’Zabe blinked owlishly at the nord before them. Brynjolf frowned. 

“Listen lad, you’ve done good work here, work we all want you to keep doing. You’ve made more of an impact on this guild in the months you’ve been here then any of our other members have in years. Even old Delvin thinks you’ve got a knack for this work. But you can’t keep going like you have been.” 

S’Zabe bristled, eyes narrowing. “This one is managing just fine! No failed missions, no? Khajiit doesn’t see the problem.”

“Well I do lad! And so does everyone else. Listen, we just want to make sure you don’t burn yourself out too soon. One wrong move and you could be behind bars for quite a while lad. And that is just bad for business.” S’Zabe looked away, claws digging into the label on their drink. 

“Consider this an order, lad. Take a break. Do whatever it is you want, but you better come back fresh, you hear? When you do, Mercer’s got a job for you. One we can’t risk failure on, got it?”

S’Zabe starred Brynjolf down, but nodded tersely. Brynjolf nodded back. The Khajiit burst from their seat, throwing back on their cloak and pack, and left the Flagon without another word.


	5. Vacations in Skyrim

A few coins in the pocket of a carriage driver, and S’Zabe was off to Falkreath. Grasped in their claws was a note. 

 

 

 

When first leaving the Flagon upon Brynjolf’s orders, the Khajiit didn’t know what to do, so they stalked into The Bee and The Barb, tail lashing behind them angrily. A few coins to Keerava for food and room, and S’Zabe went up the stairs, walking past the nook where they had first met Brynjolf without even a glance. 

Setting the bowl of soup and bread from Keerava aside for later, S’Zabe took time to remove all their extra pouches and pack, stripping down from their armor and putting on a pair of trousers and a tunic they kept as part of a causal set of clothes.  
With nothing better to do but sulk, S’Zabe went through their belongings, eating as they did so. They organized everything, tossing away anything that they hadn’t gotten around to throwing out yet. The enchantments on their bags were rather standard, but still incredibly fascinating if one stopped to think about it. Each compartment basically had its own little pocket realm, capable of storing just about anything, no matter the size, up to a certain weight limit. Considering all mages and enchanters were capable of, the bag enchantments seemed rather trivial, but still, S’Zabe liked to admire them now and again. In total, the Khajiit could carry upwards of 700lbs of equipment and gear, though it felt like far, far less. Ofcourse, should more items be stored in the pocket realms than intended, a chain reaction would occur, causing the once manageable gear to weigh the owner down. Many found this to be troublesome, and simply relied on carriages to transport chests and containers with similar enchantments. 

Well going through everything, S’Zabe came across a note. Frowning, the Khajiit tried to recall obtaining it. Some courier on the road between Whiterun and Riften, or maybe it was Solitude and Riften? The Khajiit couldn’t be sure. Unfolding it, S’Zabe realised that it was a summons from Falkreath’s Jarl. Apparently he’d ‘heard’ of S’Zabe’s achievements, though they couldn’t seem to think of anything special they had done besides cut down a few bandits here and there. After all, common bandits could be bad for business.

Still, it was something to do. The next morning, they were handing off coin to a carriage driver, and sitting back for the ride.

 

 

Jarl Siddgeir seemed like a weasel to S’Zabe, that much was clear when they walked before the man’s ‘throne’. 

“Ah, the khajiit. My steward informs me you’re the one who recieved my letter, Zabe, was it?”

An annoyed flicker of the ear. “S’Zabe.” They corrected. The Jarl simply waved the matter away like it wasn’t important.

“No matter. You’re a bit late, cat. I’ve already acquired the help of another Nord already. Still, you can be of use. There are some bandits in my hold, near a mine. Clean them out, will you? I’m sure my steward will be able to find a suitable amount of coin. Get the location from them.” With that, the man waved S’Zabe away, turning his attention to a platter of meats being offered to him by a member of his staff.

S’Zabe stalked from the Longhouse, furious at the nord, a slip of paper with the name of the mine in their claws.

Arrogance, it bleed from every pore on the Jarl, and it practically burned S’Zabe’s nose. Fingers itched to reach for the enchanted steel dagger at their side. It was a weak frost enchantment, since S’Zabe only had petty soul gems at their disposal, but any knife could kill a man, if wielded by clever hands. Perhaps it wasn’t….honorable to slit the throat of a man well he slept, but honor was for nords, and S’Zabe was no nord. 

Still, it would be unwise to kill a man of such high power for such a small slight. Perhaps S’Zabe would have been able to better deal with it, had they not been just….dismissed for a while from the Thieves Guild. Rubbing a hand over their muzzle, S’Zabe tried to put a lid on their unruly temper, and set off towards the mine. Killing man was easy. Dealing with them was hard.

 

 

And kill men, S’Zabe did. Arrows pierced the hearts and chests of the orc bandits taking up in the camp surrounding the mine, dagger cutting into the flesh of those who got to close. The leader was in the mine alone, and a few poisoned arrows did that hunk of a orc in. Ofcourse, S’Zabe was not without their own wounds, but they had plenty of potions, both bought and made, to keep them alive. Sure, there was gold from the Jarl waiting as reward for the slaughter of the bandits, but S’Zabe didn’t think anyone would miss the personal belongings of a few brutes, and surely no one would notice if the Khajiit mined a bit, would they? 

They left the bodies of the orcs in a pile in the middle of camp, with a note for the guards S’Zabe was sure the Jarl would send in hopes of reclaiming the mine.

 

 

 

Hiking back towards Falkreath, S’Zabe ignored the roads, as usual. It was far too easy to leap and clamber along the mountains and hills in the area, cutting off hours of walking time from S’Zabe’s journey. Ofcourse, when one abandons the road, they do not know what they will find.

And S’Zabe found a man begging for help to reclaim the bodies of his dead friends.


	6. Moss Mother Cavern

“Careful now.” S’Zabe murmured, wrapping some bandages around the nasty gash on the nords leg as he drank down a potion. It was nasty wound, jagged and torn from the claws of a spriggan, with splinters that the Khajiit had to carefully remove. Valdr, a dark skinned nord with blonde hair, hissed in pain as S’Zabe tightened the bandage one final time before tying it off. He set the now empty vial aside, leaning back against the log he had been sitting in front of when S’Zabe found him.

“Thanks.” Valdr said, closing his eyes for a moment as the potion kicked in, helping rush the healing so it would hold long enough for the nord to get somewhere safe. S’Zabe tucked away the rest of the bandages, not saying anything.

“Tell S’Zabe again what happened, be precise this time.” They said, handing off their last bottle of mead and a piece of roasted wolf haunch to the man before them. Valdr nodded, taking both with grateful hands.

“We tracked a bear to this den. Good coin for those pelts. We had the big sow cornered when they showed up. Three of them, out of nowhere. Uh, one from behind and two deeper in, I believe. Spriggans. Niels went down before we even knew to run. Ari….Ari died just inside. I never even thought the things were real. I may have lost a drop or two of blood." He chuckled though there was no mirth in his voice, only pain. They both knew it was more than a drop or two. He would have been dead within the hour if S’Zabe hadn’t found him, and they both knew it.

“One would be surprised what does and does not exist in this world of ours. Khajiit has even heard rumors of dragons.” S’Zabe told him, quiver in hand, counting out how many steel arrows they had left. 

“Well, myth or no myth, my friends are in that cave, and I can’t just leave them. I owe them a proper burial at least. Would you be willing to fight alongside me? I know I won’t survive that cave on my own, but I have to try.” Valdr said, pushing himself up on wobbly legs. S’Zabe reached out and pushed Valdr back down.

“Sit nord, Khajiit will clear the cave for you. Save your strength for your friends, no?” They said, standing up and bringing out their dwarven bow. It had some enchantment the creators had called ‘Silent Moons’. Burned like the devils when the moon was out. It would have to do, given that the sun had already set well S’Zabe was tending the nord. From the corner of their eye, S’Zabe could see the nord gaping at them, clearly surprised by the offer. 

“Thank you, thank you.” Valdr said, almost like a prayer. 

“Eat, drink, and don’t die. Khajiit will be back soon.” With that, S’Zabe slipped into ‘Moss Mother Cavern’, and went into a crouch.

 

 

A few yard into the cave entrance, and S’Zabe could see the faint green glow of an alert Spriggan. Knocking an arrow, the Khajiit took aim. Their arrow flew, and pierced the wooden beast through what would have been the gut. The Spriggan reared to attention, looking around, moving in the direction the arrow came with purpose. S’Zabe knew the beast hadn’t seen them yet, so another arrow tore through the creatures shoulder easily as breathing. Finally, it’s head snapped towards S’Zabe’s exact location. The Khajjit moved backwards slowly, notching arrow after arrow as the Spriggan came closer. 3 more arrows, and a new scrape in their armor, and the beast was down. Rolling the corpse over onto it’s front, S’Zabe reached in through the back and tore out the taproot. The magical center of the damned thing. Good for potions, atleast.  
Moving forward, the Khajiit passed the body of another nord, Ari from the looks of it, and a bear. Carefully moving to higher ground, S’Zabe saw the bear Valdr had most likely been after. It went down about as easy as the Spriggan. Their claws itched to get out their hunting knife and butcher the great bear, but it would take too much time, a risk with two known hostiles still within the area.

Deeper into the cave, was a waterfall and a lake, surrounded by trees. Ears pricked and alert, S’Zabe moved cautiously, arrow drawn. Blue eyes narrowed, looking around for the damned wooden beasts they had yet to kill. 

A hum started, and S’Zabe spun on the spot, arrow flying into the body of a Spriggan emerging from a tree. The hum turned into an angry buzz, and the beast surged. S’Zabe tried to fire more arrows, but it was hard to get them off fast enough with the creature coming at them with long claws, attacking the Khajiit furiously.  
S’Zabe sprung up from their previous crouch, scrambling back from a particularly nasty blow to their shoulder, causing blood to rise through their grey fur, and down the similar grey leather of their armor. Hands grasped desperately at their side pouch, pulling three weak potions from within, one in between each finger. Fangs bit into the corks, tearing them all off so all three could flow down S’Zabe’s throat at the same time. It helped, but it wasn’t enough, and S’Zabe knew that. They had no more potions, and the Spriggan was closing in again, claws raised for another devistaing blow. The Khajiit tossed their bow to the side with one hand, the other pulling their steel frost dagger from their belt at the same time. Steel met wood, and even with the charge of the weapon depleted, and S’Zabe’s aching shoulder, the Khajiit was a flurry of movement, enough to match the Spriggan. The first blow staggered the wooden creature, the second kept it off it’s feet, stopping it from attacking in turn. The third caused the green glow to fade, and a useless body fall to the ground.

S’Zabe fell with it, landing on their butt, narrowly missing sitting on their tail. S’Zabe breathed deeply, one hand on the dagger, and one eye peeled for the last spriggan. It was a miracle that the damned thing hadn’t come to the aid of it’s friend. The potions worked their magic, and S’Zabe could feel the odd sensation of magic sealing their wound with new, tender skin, fur already sprouting from it. Of course, beneath the new skin the cut was still there, but at least S’Zabe wouldn’t have to worry about bleeding out. 

Minutes passed, and S’Zabe got up, seeking higher ground after retrieving another taproot. They found a chest with some coin and gear, as well as an axe that would melt into some nice steel. Rolling their neck, S’Zabe waited for the ache in their limbs to retreat into a dull throb. Then, it was time to find the last spriggan. Landing back down on the cave floor from their ledge, S’Zabe snatched up their bow, notching another arrow for good measure. Circling the lake, S’Zabe finally caught the attention of the last spriggan.

One arrow and a flurry of a steel dagger, and S’Zabe had one more taproot. 

 

 

“Thank you, S’Zabe. I don’t have any coin to offer you, but take this. Ari gave me this dagger when we first started hunting together. Always said it brought her luck. You should be the one to carry it now." Valdr pressed the dagger into the Khajiit’s hands, a sad smile tugging at his lips. S’Zabe had butchered down the two bears, well Valdr had gotten busy laying his friends to rest. When they were done, Valdr has seemed rather intent on repaying the Khajiit. So now they had a new dagger.

S’Zabe had returned to Falkreath alone, Valdr staying behind to pray over his friends souls one final time.

The return trip was uneventful, and so was crafting a new batch of potions, and selling the one's they didn’t need to the local general store. Ofcourse, when S’Zabe left the store, their day became eventful again.

 

“DRAGON!”


	7. Dragon and Graves

Bow drawn, arrow notched, S’Zabe waited for the dragon to circle around again and land. It had landed right on the roof of the inn when the Khajiit had exited the store, and breathed fire directly at them. A bit of singed fur, and then the dragon was in the sky again. Then the bow was drawn, and S’Zabe was ready.

It landed on the roof of the inn again, but S’Zabe had crossed the street and had a good angle on the beast. It seemed determined to burn S’Zabe to a crisp, but S’Zabe got two more arrows off even though the blaze of fire. Their nose burned from the smell of their own burned fur, but they pushed on. The dragon roared, landing in the middle of the street, lashing out at the guards. S’Zabe stood among the guards, firing arrows at the beast.

It didn’t even have a chance, once it landed. Pelted full of arrows, the great dragon gurgled, eyes rolling back.

It was over as soon as it began.

People began to crowd the streets, eyes wide in awe of the damned beast. Tired guards tried to keep order, but nobody seemed to know what to do.

Well. S’Zabe pulled out a hunting knife, and pushed through the crowd. They were all to surprised to stop the Khajiit.

First came the blood, collected into a large glass container. Then the skin, and a few hours for the meat and bones and other ingredients. Citizens came and went, watching with interest. When S’Zabe was done, they were crowded by citizens asking to buy some of the meat. They were happy to oblige, and aside from the 4 pieces saved for themselves, 86 large chunks of dragon flesh were sold to curious and awed nords. 

S’Zabe was tired by the end of it, but a few hundred coins heavier, and that was a good day in their books.

Walking to the inn, a nord who hadn’t bought any meat from S’Zabe stepped alongside the Khajiit. The old man caught their eye, and gave a jerk of their head, indicating a table alongside the wall. Curious, S’Zabe followed, sitting down next to the man without a word.

“Listen, cat. You seem capable, given the way you helped take down that dragon. Name’s Dengeir. I was Jarl once, you know, but was...encouraged to step down when I openly sided with the Stormcloaks. Still, I won’t let Falkreath fall to Imperial hands, no matter what my nephew thinks.” Dengeir spoke in hushed tones, laced with barely contained anger.

“Get to the point yes? You want something, you think this one can do it for you. Let’s see, shall we?” S’Zabe pointed out mildly.

“Yes, yes. Listen, Imperial spy’s are around every corner, and I saw Lod writing some suspicious letter. Get it for me, and I’ll have some gold in it for you.” As if to prove his point, the old nord placed a small pouch of gold on the table.

“Khajiit will be back in 5 minutes.”

S’Zabe was actually back in three. The guards still distracted, Lod still occupied at the forge, his letter carelessly placed on his table.

Dengeir frowned, reading the letter. “Some sort of code? Hrmm...Well, I suppose it’s not to suspicious, thought I bet them Imperials are having Lod forge them more swords and armor. No matter. You’ve proved yourself more than capable.” He folded the letter up, shoving it inside his vest.

“Oh? Our business is not concluded, this one takes it?” 

“No. "You may have seen the open grave in our graveyard. Most of the townsfolk think it's the work of a corpse thief. The truth is less pleasant. It is...was, the grave of Vighar, my own ancestor, dead for centuries now. He is also a vampire. My family is entrusted with keeping him buried, but recently someone stole the wardstone, and Vighar escaped." 

“Do you want this one to get him back into the grave?” 

"No. It's too late for the wardstone. Vighar must be destroyed. If this gets out, my family will suffer great shame. There’s 200 gold in it for you, if you do it. I expect he’s already tracked down more of his kind. He’s probably located at the Bloodlet Throne, in the mountains."

S’Zabe pondered this. It wasn’t like there was anything better to do, though taking on a whole fort of vampires alone wasn’t perhaps the wisest of choices. Still, it was coin, and something to do. S’Zabe nodded to the old man, and was up from their seat and out the door before the old nord could say anything else. S’Zabe already knew what they needed to know.

 

They had a vampire to kill, after all.


	8. Damned Vampires

The Bloodlet Throne fort wasn’t very hard to find, if a bit tedious. Deep in the snowy mountains, the fort was partially collapsing in some areas, but clearly functional. Looking around, S’Zabe only found one entrance, which was annoying, but that was clearly worth it for what S’Zabe DID find.

It was a bow, Orcish in design, solid with a good drawstring. It even had about 30 or so arrows to match. But truly what was the prize in this bow, was the enchantment. It had a good shock enchantment on it, stronger than anything S’Zabe could make at the time. It outclassed their dwarven bow by miles. Making sure it was held tightly in their hand, the Khajiit slipped into the fort.

The entryway was empty, but clearly lit. In the distance S’Zabe could hear the howl of...dogs? They didn’t have the right vocal quality to be any sort of wolf S’Zabe had encounter. Carefully moving forward with this in mind, they stepped over the hidden pressure plate and continued deeper into the fort.

At first there was nothing of note, but soon they came across a set of stairs heading down, to a lower level, where the Khajiit could see two vampires prowling about. Breathing slowly, S’Zabe aimed. The first arrow hit through the throat of its victim, and the once human woman fell to the ground dead. Her friend let to alert, but couldn’t stop the next two arrows from piercing her. She howled in rage, stopping S’Zabe at the top of the stairs, charging with weapon drawn.

She barely got to lay a scratch on S’Zabe. 

Well, if it was going to be this easy, S’Zabe had nothing to worry about, clearly. They got to the lower level, stowing away anything of value from the dead vampires, when a resounding crack echoed through the chamber. S’Zabe spun, going for their bow. 

The statue, a Gargoyle, was breaking a stone layer around itself, coming free, charging at them. They had to dance around the creature, dodging attacks and firing arrows when they could. Still, it to eventually went down, and S’Zabe got a few extra ores and gems.  
Well, it wasn’t gonna be as easy as S’Zabe previously thought, but still manageable from the looks of it.

So on they went, bow charged and ready.

In the dining room, S’Zabe killed 3 more vampires before they could even find them, one at a time. They tried not to gag from the smell of the bloody hands on the table, which was clearly intended to be their dinner.

Up the stairs, S’Zabe found another Gargoyle, which was quickly dispatched.

The real issue, came further down the icey tunnel.

More vampires, 3 to be precise, and a caged wolf with its muzzle bound. 

S’Zabe saw the wolf first, and had a bit of bad luck when a vampire turned the corner and saw S’Zabe before they were ready to begin an assult.

S’Zabe was swarmed by all the vampires, surrounded and shooting arrow after arrow at close range. One died easily, probably still a fledgling, but the other two were mature, and took a bit more work to take down. Soon, though, S’Zabe was sitting around dead, stripped corpses of vampires, a cut on their upper lip bleeding slightly into their mouth. Blood always tasted a bit like corundum.

Switching bows for a moment, S’Zabe collected the soul and hide of the wolf in the cage, with one quick arrow to the heart.

After that, the Khajiit decended downwards, cautiously pulling a chain to open the way to a chamber, where one vampire sat in a chair above an arena, another vampire hovering over them, both chuckling at the last gasping breaths of a bandit. Death hounds were snarling and pacing in cages built into the ice surrounding the walls of the ‘arena’.

Using a bottle of professional poison they had obtained from some of the raided shelves within the fort, S’Zabe took aim with the orcish bow, and fired, before either of the vampires noticed them.

Vighar roared in pain, jumping down hastily into the little arena. He never made it more than a few steps, as another arrow stuck him in the eye, causing him to die with a strangled cry as lightning exploded from his head.

His friend was a bit luckier, having spotted S’Zabe before the first arrow shook them. They didn’t live past the second, nor did they make it more than a foot or two further then Vighar.

The souls of the death hounds were easily collected, having never been let out of their cages. Of course, by the end of all this, S’Zabe had overloaded their bags, and the weight of them seemed to pull at S’Zabe, taking all their effort to walk at a slow, controlled pace.

 

It would be a long walk back to Falkreath, S’Zabe thought, as they drank down a potion to remove the risk of having caught anything from the vampires in the fort.


	9. Ashes to Ashes

It was indeed a long walk. A long, cold, windy walk. Khajiit was glad that no icles had formed on their whiskers. By time they got back to Falkreath, they were practically dead on their feet, using half of their payment alone for a room in the Dead Man’s Drink. Dengeir of course, was pleased, his family’s honor safe, and went right back to his old-n-paranoid man duties. Whatever that was.  
S’Zabe crashed in their rented room, sleeping almost a solid twelve hours, before finally coming back to the world of the living. 

After selling a few things at the local general store, S’Zabe made their way to Whiterun, catching a carriage that was just leaving with some shipments for Morthal. Seemed like as good a place as any for S’Zabe to go next, so they did, tossing a little sack of portioned gold to the driver, and settling in with one of the books they had picked up from various places. Wasn’t like those dead people were going to read them, so S’Zabe helped themselves. Between all the Guild jobs, and running around for the people of Falkreath, S’Zabe hadn’t had a chance to sit down and read since leaving the hunters in the mountains. Though they supposed that was their own fault, seeking work left and right.

To be perfectly honest, all the murder-work in Falkreath had allowed S’Zabe to work out some of their anger at Brynjolf. They supposed it wasn’t his fault, and S’Zabe WAS driving themselves into the ground, looking back at it. Perhaps all the bandits and vampires weren’t Brynjolf’s idea when he sent S’Zabe away from the Guild for a break, but it worked out for the Khajiit in the end. The ride to Morthal was...calming. Perhaps S’Zabe wouldn’t look around the area for any busy work, and just spend a few days at the inn, going through their books and actually relaxing, perhaps work on a new bow as a project. S’Zabe couldn’t remember the last time they had done that, relaxed with no ulterior motive. 

 

 

 

The sky was dark when S’Zabe arrived in Morthal, hopping off the carriage and proceeding into the town. They had been planning on going straight to the inn, but an angry mob with torches in front of the Jarl’s hall caught their attention first. They tried to ignore it, moving towards the swinging sign signalling the inn. But, alas, they passed a burned down house on the way, and curiosity reared it’s ugly head. Instead of asking for a room from the innkeep, S’Zabe asked about the house, and was rerouted right back to the Jarl’s hall. It was late, but the Jarl was still up, and it was easy to get an audience, and unlike Siddgeir, Jarl Idgrod seemed more suited to actually running a hold.  
"So, life has brought you to Morthal, and to me. What purpose this serves, we will no doubt see. Welcome." She said, sitting down in her throne. She looked S’Zabe over, as S’Zabe looked the Jarl over, each sizing the other up. After a moment, S’Zabe spoke.

“This one hears you wish for someone to look into the house fire for you?” S’Zabe ventured, hand gesturing slightly in front of them, to indicate their interest in such a job.

“"Hroggar's house fire? He lost his wife and daughter in the blaze. My people believe it to be cursed now. Who am I to gainsay them?" Jarl Ingrod said.

“Cursed?” S’Zabe inquired.

"Hroggar blames his wife for spilling bear fat in the fire. Many folk think he set the fire himself." Her tone implied she believed it as well. 

S’Zabe bristled. “With his own family inside?” They said, shoulders tensing with anger.

"Lust can make a man do the unthinkable. The ashes were still warm when he pledged himself to Alva." She explained. It didn’t help a bit at quelling S’Zabe’s anger, though they didn’t think that was the Jarl’s intention in the first place. 

“And he still walks free?” S’Zabe demanded.

"On rumor and gossip? No. But you, a stranger, might find the truth for us. Sift through the ashes that others are too fearful to touch. See what they tell you. Should you prove him guilty or innocent, I will reward you." The Jarl stated, with a nod. S’Zabe took it, and turned around, exciting the building. The burned down home was close, and soon S’Zabe was standing among ashes and burnt wood. 

They looked around at first, trying to decide where to start. From the looks of it, the house had burned almost everything, leaving nothing but a fireplace, floor, and what little remained of the walls behind. When the surrounding area got a bit colder, and they noticed the ground at their feet was illuminated blue, the Khajiit turned around. Behind them, looking curious and timid at the same time, was the ghostly visage of a little girl. S’Zabe’s heart ached as they moved forward to kneel before the child’s soul, knees landing in the ashes of the house.

“Who are you, little one?” S’Zabe asked gently.

She looked suspicious and curious all at one. “Helgi. But father says I’m not supposed to talk to strangers....are, are you a stranger?” She asked.

S’Zabe nodded. “Your father is wise then. No, this one is a friend. Could you tell Khajiit what happened here?” They asked gently, gesturing loosely to the house around them.

Hegli wrapped her ghostly arms around herself. “The smoke woke me up. It was hot, and I was scared. So I hid. Then, it got cold and dark. I’m not scared anymore.” She said, looking down. But then she seemed to perk up. “But I am lonely! Will you play with me?” The ghost girl asked. Her voice was so earnest, so hopeful, that S’Zabe’s heart broke.

“This one would be happy to play with you, but afterwards, could you tell Khajiit if you know who set the fire?” They asked, a small smile tugging at their lips, eyes soft as they looked at the child ghost before them.

“Okay!” Helgi accepted happily. “Lets play hide and seek. You find me and I’ll tell you.” She declared. “I had to wait for night time though. The other one is playing to, and she couldn’t play until now.”

S’Zabe tried to hide their frown. “The other one? What do you mean, little one?”

Helgi shook her head. “I can’t tell you. She might hear me. She’s so close. If you can find me first, I’ll tell you.” Then with a smile, Helgi’s ghost vanished.

Standing up from the ash, S’Zabe brushed the ash from their knees. They had a sinking feeling they knew where to find young Helgi. S’Zabe looked beyond the house, to the hills where they could faintly smell the scent of upturned soil. Having a feeling that this ‘other one’, whoever she might be, wasn’t going to be friendly, S’Zabe drew their bow, and notched an arrow, creeping up the hill slowly.

Sure enough, there was a grave with a coffin dug up. And, creeping along with a torch directly towards the grave, a woman in dark clothes. S’Zabe waited for the woman to reach the coffin, wanting to be sure. When the woman made to open the coffin, S’Zabe let loose an arrow. The woman fell to the ground, gurgling her last breath through the blood in her mouth, courtesy from Khajiit’s arrow to the side of the neck.  
Feeling uncompassionate, S’Zabe merely kicked the dying body to the side, and kneeled down again to lay a hand on the coffin.

Sure enough, she spoke. “You found me! Laelette was trying to find me to, but I’m glad you found me first. Laelette was told to burn Mommy and me, but she didn’t want to. She wanted to play with me, forever and ever. She kissed me on the neck, and I got so cold that the fire didn’t even hurt. Laelette thought she could take me and keep me, but she can’t.” And here, the sound of the girl’s got quiet, and a bit sad. Still, she sounded accepting of the truth. “I’m all burned up.”  
A moment of silence. “I’m tired. I’m going to sleep for a while now.”

With that, the sound of the girl’s voice was gone, and the shouting of a worried man running towards them sounded. 

S’Zabe ignored him, and turned to the corpse of Laelette. They pushed open the eyelids of the dead woman, and sure enough the eyes were changed to the unnatural colours of a vampire who had not eaten in a while. By this point, a man S’Zabe had seen in front of the Jarl’s hall was collapsing onto his knees at the foot of the corpse.

“Laelette!” He wailed. “She’s dead!” Tears were falling from his face into the snow. He made as if he wanted to reach out to her, but he couldn’t. S’Zabe saw the ring on his finger.

“What can you tell this one about your wife.” They asked.

The man turned to look at S’Zabe. “Laelette? I thought she left to join the Stormcloaks.” His grief seemed to renew itself. “Aaah! My poor Laelette!” He finally moved forward to cradle the body closer to himself.

“Did you notice anything strange before she left?” S’Zabe asked, standing behind the grieving man. Perhaps they should have given the man time to grieve properly, but there was a child coffin right beside them, with an innocent lying within. S’Zabe was not going to give time.

The man, Thonnir if S’Zabe remembered the mutterings of the men when they saw him before correctly, looked up at them. He looked dazed and confused, but he answered. “She….began spending a lot of time with Alva. Yet, a week before, she despised her!” He began to think, from the look on his face. “In Fact...the night she disappeared, she was supposed to meet Alva. Alva told me later that she never showed up.” And here, the man choked a bit on his words. “I never got to tell her goodbye..” He whimpered, shoving his face into the chest of his dead wife, weeping loudly.

S’Zabe pulled him by his shoulder to look back at the Khajiit. “This one thinks they may have met after all.” They said, taping at the corner of their eyes as they spoke. 

Thonnir seemed to catch on, lifting Laelette’s eyelids to get a look himself. He reared back, arms letting his wife fall back into the snow. “You think Alva...but that means…” His words tampered off, his mind reeling. “Ye gods!” He cried, standing. “You think Alva is a vampire?”

S’Zabe nodded. “It is a possibility we cannot ignore.”

“No!” Thonnir yelled, stepping back from the Khajiit. “You’re wrong. You MUST be wrong. Laelette may have met her fate out in the marsh.” Here the man began to practically growl in S’Zabe’s face. “I refuse to believe Alva had anything to do with this. There is no way you can prove it to the Jarl!” With that, Thonnir turned away decisively, lifting his wife into his arms, walking away, presumably to tend to a proper burial.

S’Zabe watched him walk away. Looking up at the night sky, S’Zabe frowned. They would not let this child’s murder go unpunished. Stalking back into town, S’Zabe slipped out of site of the guards making arounds. Finding Alva’s house, S’Zabe fiddled with the lock, until it clicked upon.

If they recalled correctly, Alva was the woman Hroggar pledged himself to. Undoubtedly he would be inside, along with Alva if she was there.

S’Zabe was right, and as soon as they slipped inside and closed the door, the two turned to look at them. They only had a second to get out their weapon before the two were on them, furious.

Khajiit made quick work of them, and soon both were corpses lying on the ground, pools of blood mixing together. They had caught a glimpse of vampire eyes in Alva when the fight started, so they had no worries of having killed innocents and having to flee the guards. The first level of the house had nothing of interest, but there were stairs leading to a cellar. There was a coffin down there, clearly a bed. S’Zabe didn’t see the appeal of sleeping in coffins. Didn’t seem like it would be comfortable, vampire or no. They thought perhaps it was a thing of ego, trying to throw themselves into their roll of blood sucker.  
Inside of the coffin was a journal, and S’Zabe had all the proof they needed.

 

 

 

“That traitorous bitch!” Jarl Idgrod snarled. She pulled a guard aside, speaking a few words to him in hushed tones. S’Zabe turned their ears elsewhere. The Jarl turned back to them soon enough. “Morthal owes you a debt. Here, you were promised a reward for solving the crime.” A small pouch of coins was handed to them. 

“I have a favor to ask.” The old Jarl stated. “Morthal is still in danger. The journal mentions Movarth, a master vampire I thought was destroyed a century ago. I’ve gathered together some able-bodied warriors to clean out Movarth’s lair. They’ll be waiting outside for you to lead them.” It sounded less like a favor to S’Zabe, and more like a command. They allowed it to pass without comment. More had to die before all those responsible for the dead child had payed their dues.

S’Zabe left the hall, and sure enough four angry warriors from around town were gathered, weapons drawn. Thonnir, tears barely dry on his face, was at the front of the group, face set into stoney determination.

“Take us to Movarth’s lair.” He demanded, hand gripping his axe tightly. S’Zabe only nodded, and together they all marched into the marsh.

Of Course, the courage of man is a fickle thing. The combination of the night, the marsh, and the cave opening was enough to send everyone but Thonnir marching right back to the safety of Morthal.

“Khajiit will be going in alone?” S’Zabe commented, standing beside Thonnir as they watched the others flee. Thonnir shook his head, fury in his eyes as he turned to face the Khajiit.

“They may be cowards, but I’m not. I’ll go with you.” Thonnir said, pushing his chest out as if to psyche himself up. 

S’Zabe looked him over. He wore no armor, and despite the fierce look in his eyes, S’Zabe noticed a slight tremor in the man’s hand. They shook their head. “No. Khajiit will go in alone, yes?” They said, looking at him. The man seemed to shake, presumably with the desire to yell at S’Zabe. S’Zabe did not remove their gaze from Thonnir’s eyes. Finally, his tense shoulders relaxed, and he seemed to droop.

“You’re right. I’m no warrior. Avenge my Laelette for me!” 

S’Zabe nodded, steel in their blue eyes. Then, the grey Khajiit turned, and slinked into the cave, melding into the shadows, leaving the widow behind.

 

 

 

The cave was fairly direct. One path seemed to move forward, and S’Zabe crept along, bow at the ready. They encountered stairs leading down into the depths, with two Frostbite spiders lurking about. They’re souls were easily collected with piercing shots from S’Zabe’s arrows.  
Then came a thrall, sitting at a table. An arrow to the back ended his life just as easily. Forward a bit, came an area with scattered clothes and dead bodies. Deep in a hole, another thrall was shifting through the pockets of the dead. S’Zabe crept behind, and shot him. Alas, one arrow didn’t put him down, as he scrambled out of the hole and towards S’Zabe. They ducked the thralls axe, and put a point blank arrow through his gut. He didn’t get up this time, collapsing to the ground, crying out in furious pain. S’Zabe stomped on his throat, to get him to shut up, moving past the dying man in the throes of a painful death, and went forward into the cave.  
By this point, they could hear the gleeful clamour of people enjoying themselves. Creeping along slowly, they went up a ramp into a wooden pathway that hugged the wall above the cavern. Slinking into the shadows, they watched the vampire Movarth sit at his own little thrown. There was a path behind them up on the wooden path, so S’Zabe assumed it looped around into the cavern below, by way of the path to the left of Movarth, that S’Zabe could see.

Making sure their bow was ready to go, they lined up a shot. The arrow struck deep into the shoulder of the master Vampire, and he roared. Getting up, he began to roam his cavern, looking for the culprit. More vampires came out of the woodworks to help him. They got another shot into another vampire, before the lot of them went into the path, presumably to get to the wooden path S’Zabe was on. They would find them, if so.  
But, S’Zabe was nothing if not confidant in what they could and could not do, so the slipped off the side of the wooden path, and onto the cavern floor below, hiding in the corner, covered by shadows and behind wooden support beams. 

Sure enough, they could hear the lot of them circling about, headed to S’Zabe’s old position. They all came out, stomping on the wood p;anks above the Khajiit’s head, before turning back the way they came. Once sure that they were going back, S’Zabe jumped straight up back onto the wooden path. Once again, their gift of jumping had come to their aid. And so it went, one more time just like that, one dead thrall and one more joining the fray, before things took a turn for the worse. Well waiting below the wooden path for Movarth and his lackeys to circle back, one particular thrall decided to wait on the wooden path overlooking the cavern. Movarth and the other thrall went back down the circling path themselves.

The next few minutes were nerve racking. Watching as Movarth and his companion looked around, getting closer and closer to S’Zabe’s hiding spot. They weren’t about to give up, or change their plan of action. So that left S’Zabe with one thing to do. They tucked away their bow, and pulled out their frost dagger. Quietly jumping back up onto the ledge, S’Zabe crept up behind the thrall, hoping for a clean kill.

They didn’t get it. The damned thrall began to turn just as S’Zabe thrust with their dagger, and the thrall caught it in his side with a shout. Before he could bring up his weapon to retaliate, one hand on the side of the thralls neck for support, S’Zabe dove the dagger into the damned things neck, ending it’s pathetic life. Unfortunately, that alerted Movarth to S’Zabe’s exact location, ending all hopes of a stealthy ending of this battle. Movarth and his friend took off at a run, and S’Zabe knew they couldn’t hide again this time. When the thrall came through ahead of Movarth, S’Zabe was a flurry of daggers, ending it’s life just as Movarth started to drain S’Zabe’s very life away with his powers. They exchanged clashes of steel, Movarth pushing S’Zabe to pull out every trick in the book that they had left.

Said tricks, were just actually health potions, gulped down in spare moments between swings of Movarth’s blade. Finally, S’Zabe saw their chance. They were weakening, and had to end this now. Movarth tried to push his advantage to soon, and it opened up a flaw in his defense. S’Zabe lunged forward, shoulder down. They caught the vampire on their shoulder, shoving both of them into the stone wall behind them. Then, it was four or five quick stabs to the undead’s gut, finally putting an end to their battle. 

That would have been victory, but there were two vampires left in corners of the cave who hadn’t joined in. Luckily, both were taken down by arrows as easy as breathing, despite it costing S’Zabe the absolute last of their arrows.

They had won.

 

After cleaning up the cave of any valuables, as was S’Zabe’s right as victor, they proceeded out of the cave, and back onto the ramp leading out. When they stepped on the ramp and looked up, they could see the ghostly form of Helgi waiting for them.

Their heart felt cold, and weighed down as if it was covered in ice. No matter the number of dead vampires, none could give Helgi back the life and family that was stolen from her. With deliberate steps, they walked up the ramp, and came face to face with the little girl.

S’Zabe couldn’t think of any words to say, but that seemed alright, as little Helgi smiled at them. “Mother’s calling me. It’s time for me to sleep now, and I’m so tired. Thank you for making her feel better.” 

 

And then, she was gone, leaving S’Zabe alone.


	10. Building Home

Jarl Ingrod was too busy for a full audience after Movarth's death, so the steward handed S'Zabe some gold and asked them to come back in a few days, after everything had calmed down. So, S'Zabe delivered a letter for Ingrod the Younger, and got into fist fight with Benor, who was upset at having run instead of staying to fight. S'Zabe got some gold out of it, and Benor got to work out his frustration, so all in all it was a good deal. When S'Zabe had have another audience with Jarl Ingrod, they thought perhaps the Jarl had another job instore for them. They were drastically wrong.

"Thane?!" S'Zabe stammered, rather ungracefully. The Jarl took this in stride, nodding sagely. 

"You're well known in my hold, and you've done Morthal a great service. It'll bring my people comfort if you accept, and perhaps give them something else to talk about, instead of Falion." Jarl Ingrod waved over a member of her staff, who offered S'Zabe the hilt of a dwarven sword. "Take this as proof of your station." She said, as the young man practically shoved the sword at the Khajiit. They took it gingerly, frowning a bit. This certainly was unexpected.

"Now," Jarl Ingrod started again, catching S'Zabe's attention. "As Thane of Morthal, you should own property in my hold. We have no free houses, as Hroggar's old home will not be rebuilt until the land has been properly cleansed. However, we do have land, and men, if you wish to purchase a parcel of land for a homestead." She offered. 

S'Zabe hesitated. But the thought of a home, or atleast, a place to build a home, was far too tempting an offer for the Khajiit. They hadn't had a home since their father had passed, hadn't had any place to tie them down. Would they risk it? Risk tying themselves to this land until the end? The last true home they had known, was the tent they had lived in with Dar'Akar. The tent, that Dar'Akar had crafted himself when he was a young Khajiit, created to shelter him and his family in hard times. True, the roaming tribes of Anequina didn't stay in one spot for long, but home was still home. Home was walls around one at night, a fire to tell stories by and cook over. Home was where one could lay down and rest, without fear. S'Zabe had not had a home for such a long time, and when offered with the chance to build a home, their heart ached. 

They turned over the gold before they realized what they were doing. But no regrets sprouted in S'Zabe's heart. Only hope.

Ofcourse, S'Zabe needed supplies. Wood, glass, straw, and so on. They went out, and poured every drop of coin they had, into purchasing supplies for the homestead. True, the Jarl had offered men to help S'Zabe build the home, but S'Zabe still needed supplies. They got wood from a mill near Falkreath, staring intently at the vampire who tried so innocently to sell them wood, perhaps unaware that their eyes where giving them away. Still, they didn't seem to be bothering anyone, so S'Zabe ordered their wood, and went on with their day.

Together with more experienced builders, S'Zabe plotted out a blueprint, organized the men, and began building. S'Zabe worked on a little bit of everything. Mining quarried stone and clay, crafted nails, hinges, locks, and iron fittings. Pounded nails into wood, raised walls, formed floors, and set roofing into place. For days they all worked, from dawn to dusk. S'Zabe's only break from the work, was hunting down more meat to roast over the fires for them all to feast on, after long days working. The men had brought plenty of their own mead and wine, and the few hours during dusk that they had to relax before they slept, were filled with roaring laughter around campfires. S'Zabe didn't interact with them too much, aside from what was needed to work on the house. Still, one nord seemed determined to stick by S'Zabe's side.

Valdimar was a nord with a shaved head, and a bushy mustache. He was always close by, lending a hand during the planning phase, he coordinated the men when S'Zabe was busy elsewhere. If S'Zabe was in charge of the project, then Valdimar had placed himself as second-in-command, seemingly uncontested. He camped near S'Zabe at night, the only who to do so, as S'Zabe camped a bit away from the main pack of men.

At first, S'Zabe accepted it without comment, but, curiosity and Khajiits as it where. 

"Valdimar." S'Zabe started, as they worked for forge to craft more materials. They had finished the manor, and were now finishing the whole place. Starting with the cellar, where S'Zabe had their own fully functional smithy. Valdimar was smithing down some more iron for them at the time, since most of the men had gone home when the house was done, and only a handful had stayed to help with furnishing the place, and they didn't need him to hover to keep them in line. The nord perked up when addressed.

"Yes, Thane?" He asked. The man always seemed intent on addressing S'Zabe by the title.

"This one is curious, why you seem so...persistent in making yourself useful." They asked casually, hammering away at the hot metal. They could practically hear Valdimar's confusion, it was so obvious. 

"You don't know? I'm was appointed your Housecarl by Jarl Ingrod." He stated. At this, S'Zabe dumped the formed metal into water to cool, and set down their hammer. Turning to Valdimar, they cocked their head in their own confusion, trying to puzzle things out. 

"Khajiit has heard the term, but this one is not certain they understand. A housecarl?" They asked. At this, Valdimar set his shovel down, and turned fully to face S'Zabe.

"Housecarls are those who pledge their lives to their masters, whoever they may be. We volunteer for the duty, and those of us who are proven to be of worth, are assigned to Jarls or Thanes. I have the honor of being appointed to you. My place is by your side, from this day to the last." Valdimar said, chest bursting with pride, and eyes burning with passion. S'Zabe could tell that Valdimar was sincere. It confused the Khajiit. They couldn't fathom why anyone would pledge their lives to them. Still, Valdimar had been pleasant company, and more then useful.

"Perhaps you would have no objections then, to serving as a steward as well?" S'Zabe commented lightly. "S'Zabe won't always be here, and this one prefers to know someone will be here to look after the place."

Valdimar grinned. "I'd be honored to serve as your steward."

And just like that, it was settled. Windstad Manor was coming together.


	11. Proving Ones Worth

Windstad wasn't actually the name S'Zabe would have chosen for their home, but early on in the construction of the house, some of the workers had thrown out some names for the place, almost as a game. Most of them were made in jest, such as 'Cat's Cradle' and 'Fur Palace'. S'Zabe thought those particular two were lacking in imagination, but it made the nords laugh. Eventually someone through out Windstad in a more serious maner, and it caught on. S'Zabe didn't actually have anything better to name it, given they had never had to name a house before, and as such the name stuck.

It took a couple week for Windstad to truely be finished. It was furnished, with a storage room, garden, and even a kitchen. Which was particularly nice, because S'Zabe got some cooking moonsugar from the Khajiit caravans. Ofcourse outside of Elswery it was very uncommon, and perhaps frowned upon, but S'Zabe had grown up eating sweet meats and drinks, and they were getting thoroughly tired of the typical nord food. It also gave them time to work out a good tea recipe, ofcourse sweetened with the sugar, to break up the monotony of water. For sleeping, a double bed and two single beds were located upstairs, but they had built a bunk house at the edge of the property by the lake and the fish hatchery, for staff, at Valdimar's suggestion early on. It made much more sense to S'Zabe now that they knew that Valdimar was a housecarl, now turned steward. Valdimar would make his own home there, with room for anyone else S'Zabe might want to hire. Though S'Zabe wasn't particularly keen on hiring people, Valdimar had pointed out that further down the line they might desire some. So it was built, and S'Zabe was gladder for it.

At the end of it all, S'Zabe was getting a bit antsy. Oh true, in the long run, the days spent working on the house were extremely relaxing, and they wouldn't change it. But S'Zabe was a khajiit who was meant to do things. So, content that Brynjolf's intent for S'Zabe's time off was fully achieved, S'Zabe paid goodbye to Valdimar and returned to Riften.

 

 

Walking into the Cistern felt deeply satisfying. 

"Ey, the cat returns!" Rune greeted, having spotted S'Zabe first. The friendly nord was the only one S'Zabe actually know more of then just in passing, aside from Vex and Delvin. Rune was the only one who made an effort to talk to the Khajiit in their brief stints in the Cistern between jobs, which typically consisted of S'Zabe passing out for several hours, scarfing some food and water down, before heading back out. Rune was probably one of the nicer thieves S'Zabe had met in the guild, in all actuality. Everyone else seemed kinda gruff, or aloof. Perhaps this time around S'Zabe would try to be a better guild mate.

"Hello Rune, this one is glad to see you are well!" S'Zabe said, walking over to accept a side-hug from the friendly nord. "S'Zabe didn't miss anything particularly exciting, did they?"

Rune grinned, letting S'Zabe loose from the hug. "Well, given you took your sweet time get'n back, quite a bit! Job circulation, and all that. Sapphire nearly punched Vipir's lights out, on account of him pickpocketing some things off her. Sapphire DID punch Cynric's lights out, cause he bet Vipir he couldn't do it!" Rune said, walking with S'Zabe towards Mercer's desk, where he an Brynjolf were talking. Though if they were both walking slower then usual, neither mentioned it. "Oh! And Mercer and Brynjolf finally got pissed off enough at Molgrom to kick his ass to the curb, and he even got some jail time to boot." The nord said, shrugging.

"Wasn't Molgrom the one who was stupid enough to kill his targets?" S'Zabe tried to clarify.

"Yep. He got stabbed by another member, one of the more freelance members anyway, a few days after you left. Vex saved his ass, and tore that member a new ass. Anyway, he tried to start up callin himself 'Twice-Killed', though nobody really minded him any. You'll know you've entered the Riften jail, when you can hear his bitch'n, according to the guards." Rune said. "The lot of us are better off for it, man was gonna bring too much heat down on us before long."

"Hmm. S'Zabe see's. Can't say they are sorry though." The Khajiit said, patting Rune on the back as the Khajiit made their way the last few paces to the leaders of the guild, and Rune split off back to his own business.

Mercer and Brynjolf were frowning, speaking in angry hushed towns as S'Zabe approached. They stood few steps back, not wanting to disturb them until they were done. They did remember after all, that Brynjolf had mentioned a specific job for when they got back. S'Zabe didn't have to wait long, because Mercer's piercing gaze snapped to them almost immediately, it seemed.

"You!" The man hissed, startling Brynjolf into turning around to see the Khajiit. "Forget whatever job Brynjolf promised you, you took your sweet time, so now I've got a different job for you." 

Brynjolf protested immediately. "Mercer, you cant be serious! Even Vex couldn't get into Goldenglow. S'Zabe can be tested on other jobs, this ones too important." The red-headed nord said, clearly frazzled.

Mercer snorted. "You seemed to think this cat was worth the effort, when you brought him in. Now he can prove it." Mercer stepped back around the desk towards S'Zabe, shoving a note into their chest roughly. "Get into that damned bee farm, and clear the safe out. Then, three of the hives. You make a single mistake, and I'll have your head." He turned and stalked off, leaving S'Zabe alone with a red-faced Brynjolf.

"Damn it all." He muttered, before turning to a still stunned S'Zabe. "Listen, the owner Aringoth, sold the damn property, cutting Maven and the guild out. We need to send a message, since the damned elf turned his back on us, and Maven's furious. The elf has practically hired an entire army of mercenaries to watch the property, so be careful. Vex should be able to give you more info, since she almost got in." He explainied. S'Zabe held up a hand, putting a stop to Brynjolf's worried rant.

"Can you tell this one what level of the house the safe is in?" They asked, raising an eyebrow. 

Brynjolf blinked, clearly not expecting the level of calm the Khajiit was displaying. "In the basement." S'Zabe nodded.

"They will do it. Anything else from the estate, perhaps?" They joked lightly. Brynjolf gave a half-laugh at S'Zabe's brazen confidence. 

"Sure, that damned bee statue Aringoth's got in his bedroom. Delvin's been wanting it for ages." Brynjolf joked. S'Zabe turned away with a nod, stalking back out to the exit of the cistern. Brynjolf may have mentioned the statue as a joke, but S'Zabe took it as a challenge. They left Riften's wall's again at a brisk pace, after all, they had a house to rob.

 

 

The estate was indeed filled to the brim with guards, that was for sure. S'Zabe had carefully swam along the little island in the lake that was Goldenglow. None of the mercs around thought to look down at the waters edge, so S'Zabe was able to fully investigate the estate without detection, which was perfectly fine with them. Well, despite the double annoyance of wet fur and wet armor. They had thought ahead though, and left most of their gear hidden on shore. They just had their armor, some lockpicks, and an empty pouch to store what they needed, including some flint and steel.  
Most of the guards were posted along the front of the property, and watching the bridge that lead to where the hives where located. Unfortunately for them, no one was watching the back entrance, and S'Zabe was able to get up onto dry land via a staircase at the edge of the water, next to the boat they had on the property. They took a few moments to dry off, dumping water from their boots and grasping their tail to try to strain the water from their fur. It would be completely pointless to break in, only to be discovered because of a damn water trail. It took a little bit to dry off enough to their satisfaction, but no guards came around to check on the back entrance. Stupid of them, but perfect for S'Zabe. 

It was even more perfect, when S'Zabe noticed the moss-covered sewer entrance. Now that was clearly a good place to start, and start there they did. It was fairly straight forward, if one ignored the path were a skeever was ambling about. And, too their luck, there was a hole in the ceiling. Now, it was much too high of a jump for any man or mer to make. But Khajiit was a khajiit, neither man nor mer, and they were one of those born with powerful legs specifically for instances like this. The jump was easy, and before they knew it, they were behind a cell door, looking at the safe. Easier then expected, really.   
They carefully excited the cell, raided the safe room for all it was worth, and got ready to move on. Of course, there was a letter with an odd symbol, which S'Zabe thought would be of particular interest to Brynjolf. They highly doubted Mercer gave them this job because he thought they could do it, and more so he could fulfill his threat to have S'Zabe's head, so really, Mercer could go take a long walk of high cliff for all S'Zabe cared, guild master or not.

With the safe sufficiently robbed clean, S'Zabe looked around the area to see if they could get deeper into the house this way, but alas, there was a guard sitting in a chair with clear view of the stairs S'Zabe was peeking out from the bottom of. So, it was back out via the sewer. Now, S'Zabe could have circled around the property, gotten to the hives and left within 10 minutes, sufficiently completing the job. But, the bee statue awaited, and S'Zabe would bet good money that a knick-knack like that would be kept close to Aringoth, where he could enjoy it properly. So, the bedroom it probably was. Lockpicking the back door, the Khajiit finally entered the house from the obvious entrance. 

Within a few minutes of being inside the house, S'Zabe was thoroughly annoyed. These guards, mercs or not, were clearly slacking off. Quantity over quality, apparently. So, because they could, S'Zabe stole every item not nailed down to the floor that they could get away with. All the bowls, mugs, plates, mead, everything! Now that was sending a message! Either way, their journey through the house was an easy one, up until they slid into the master bedroom. They could hear someones breathing, who they assumed to be Aringoth. Jumping up onto the rafters for a quick peek, they saw it was indeed the elf himself, and he was looking around, tapping his fingers on the table, running hands through his hair. He was clearly paranoid. No way S'Zabe could sneak past him.

Well, no way without a little invisibility anyway. The particular skill S'Zabe was going to call on, was called shadowwalking. Now, it was true that S'Zabe couldn't use magic: Destruction, restoration, alteration, conjuration, illusion! S'Zabe could not use any of it. A particular quirk of genetics, and S'Zabe was not able to manifest what magicka outside their body. Enchanting they could do, because all they had to do was focus, hold the enchantments, and let the enchanting array draw the magicka from them and layer it over the item. Shadowwalking, on the other hand, was an internal skill. The magicka was never to be forced from the body, it was all internal. By tapping into this skill, the Khajiit was able to layer their own skill in the magic, causing them to disappear from view, for a short time, before the magicka was drawn back into S'Zabe's body. It would take a full day before they could use it again, but it was well worth it in situations like this. 

Now, a particular issue, was S'Zabe had to maintain focus, with no influxes of magic to disturb the magic flowing over their skin. The slightest detraction, and it would be over. Opening a door? Lockpicking a safe? Pickpocketing? All things S'Zabe couldn't do. They also couldn't put anything they picked up into their pouch. The addition of a new item into the enchanted bag would cause a disruption of magic, also prematurely ending the skill. 

But, S'Zabe was nothing if not resourceful, and knowledgeable. They could, almost without thinking, pick up an object and carry it in their hands, to be placed onto the ground. The difference between carrying objects out of their targets view and opening doors, was that one typically had to stop briefly to focus on opening the door. S'Zabe could move about, and grab hold of an item without even stopping to think about it. 

So, a quick activation of Shadowwalking later, and they had carried everything they could out of Aringoth's room, without him even noticing, the elf too focused on what he was thinking about to notice his valuables disappearing from view. Letting the shadowwalking fade away once they were safe from Aringoth's sight, S'Zabe stashed away their prizes, was out of the house before anyone was the wiser.

Burning down the hives, with one untouched one in between each burning one to signify that they could have burned them all, was cub's play. Ofcourse, before they did that, they picked the little field of flowers clean, just to add salt to the wound. Once the hives were on fire, the mercs came running, but S'Zabe was already swimming back to the shore where they had stashed the rest of their things.

All in all, a job well done.


	12. Back to Grunt Work

They casually strolled back into Riften again, once they were completely dry, as to not arouse suspicious. Apparently, word on the street was Goldenglow was hit, the dock workers having seen the smoke rising from the estate. People were abuzz on the streets, and Mjoll the 'Lioness' was in a frothing rage. S'Zabe slipped off onto the side-streets, and was back down within the Cistern with no-one the wiser.   
When they arrived, it seemed everyone was in a tizzy. Delvin and Vex had actually left the comfort of the Flagon, and were waiting with Brynjolf in the center, talking together from the looks of it. But Mercer was standing over his desk, away from everyone else. As was typical for him, Rune was the one who spotted the Khajiit first. 

"Ah, the cat of the hour!" Rune bellowed gleefully, from where he was standing with the other members of the guild. S'Zabe rolled their eyes, walking towards the group with easy strides, accepting a shoulder hug from the nord. Rune gave their shoulders a good shake along with the hug, and so S'Zabe shoved their head away, which Rune accepted with a laugh.

"Well, you survived." Was Sapphire's comment, as she looked at them with a raised eyebrow. 

"And made us look good." Thyrnn added, his arms folded over his chest as he leaned against the wall casually.

"It was very exciting, I'm sure." Said Niruin.

"I had twenty gold down that you'd get killed." Cynric shrugged, but Vipir shoved him a bit.

"I had faith, and now I'm twenty gold richer!" Vipir grinned.

S'Zabe smiled lightly, their tail swaying behind them happily. It was nice to see the other guild members hanging about waiting to talk to them, and not just Rune. Yes, they'd definitely have to do something nice for them, to help make up for being such a lacking guild-mate in the past. "Well, this one did have a good time. Seemed most of the guards were hired with quantity in mind, not quality." They said. And then, they held up a pouch, and dumped out some of the contents. Said contents being a few bowls, tankards, and plates. "Perhaps they'll be more alert once they realize they have nothing left in the house but furniture?" They mused. Rune, Thrynn, Cynric, and Vipir all just about busted a gut laughing, and even Sapphire and Niruin had to hold back a laugh. It felt...nice, laughing with them. It had been so long, that the budding of friendship in their chest felt foreign. 

"Well," Niruin started once the others calmed down a bit and S'Zabe recollected their loot. "If we keep you any longer Vex might just kill us. She's been frothing mad ever since we found out you got in, and will probably threaten to skin you alive if you don't tell her how you did it." S'Zabe nodded, having known they'd have to join Brynjolf and the others in the middle soon anyway. So, with a quick goodbye to the group as they all dispersed, S'Zabe walked over the little bridge to where the senior members of the guild waited. 

"How'd you do it?!" The white-haired Imperial demanded as soon as the Khajiit was close enough. Vex was, indeed, frothing mad. Neither Brynjolf or Delvin objected to Vex's rather threatening demand for information, and clearly they wanted to know as well.

"Khajiit swam, and went in though the sewers." They supplied. Vex didn't seem amused.

"I tried the sewers, it's impossible to get through that hole in the ceiling." She shoved S'Zabe in the shoulder as she said it. S'Zabe only smiled pleasantly.

"You do not have the Azurah blessed legs of a Khajiit." They said as way of explanation. Then, before further interrogation could be completed, they reached into a pouch, and removed the bee statue, handing it to Delvin, feeling rather smug about it. "Khajiit was told you were looking for this?" They said pleasantly.

Brynjolf looked gobsmacked. "You actually got the damned statue?" He said, a little bit in disbelief. Delvin on the other hand, snatched up the statue with a gleam in his eyes. 

"Well well well...." He muttered. The older man got a small pouch of gold, and tossed it S'Zabe's way, as he and Vex walked off back to the flagon, leaving S'Zabe and Brynjolf alone.

They looked at the long-haired nord, and raised an eyerow. "Khajiit is good for business, yes?"

Brynjolf smiled back, and was about to say something when the heavy footsteps of Mercer came up from behind them. They both turned to face the guild-master.

"You're only good for business when you're out on a job, so go get some!" He snapped. 

"Mercer, come on, it was a good job the lad pulled." Brynjolf tried, but Mercer wouldn't have it.

"One good job, a thief does not make, Brynjolf." Mercer growled, motioning for S'Zabe to leave. 

S'Zabe nodded pleasently to Bryrnjolf, and headed to the Flagon. Of course, they were furious inside. They were surprised Mercer was lasting as long as he was as guild-master, if this was how he treated his recuits. Or perhaps he just didn't like Khajiit's. Which would be fair, given Khajiit didn't like him.

Still, they took some jobs from Delvin, and some from Vex, who had a few lashing words about S'Zabe not going to be replacing them as the best infiltrator. They accepted it with good grace, and went off to relax a bit with Rune and the others before they went off to Windhelm.


	13. Another day, Another thief.

Doing the Windhelm jobs was a breeze, pun completely intended. Windhelm housed a host of dark elves and argonians, though it wasn't completely unheard of for other races to come through via the docks on on occasion, such as when S'Zabe themselves had come to Skyrim. Now the trick to getting around Windhelm and not attracting too much attention, was to come through the dock entrance looking like any other worker. Ships came in everyday, and the guards were very lax in keeping records of each ships workers and passengers.  
It wasn't exactly common, but some Khajiit's did make work as sailors and such, Khenarthi protecting them with her winds in their sails. Shipments came from Elsweyr on the regular, both in traditional trade and as supply for the Caravans, and it was quite easy to watch the docks from a distance to figure out the scheduled. It was even easier to simply ask the Caravan that accepts and redistributes the shipments to the other Caravans.

Now of course the actual workers of the Khajiit ships would notice immediately. This wasn't a problem in the least for S'Zabe. They showed up in the early morning, and asked the ship’s Captian as they docked if S'Zabe could help unload. Before the Captian could say that they wouldn't hire any more workers, S'Zabe passed a single gold coin into the Khajiit's hand, smiling, and thanking them for the work experience. The other Khajiit laughed, slapping S'Zabe on the back with a wink, and set them to work as if they were any other worker on the ship. The other Khajiit's accepted S'Zabe gratefully, a few calling them Daro'Zabe, since all those on board of the ship clearly knew S'Zabe was a thief with a mark in Windhelm. Khajiit after all, were the cleverest, just as Azurah created them per the first of her mother Fadomai's secretes.

So, S'Zabe worked the whole day with the crew of the ship, and went with them when they headed to the Gray Quarter for a drink that night. However, S'Zabe slipped away into the shadows around the stone corners leading to the New Gnisis Corner club. From there, they jumped up onto the roof's of Windhelm. They planned to camp out for a day or two, to lessen the risk of the Khajiit ships and workers having suspicion cast on them. Ofcourse, Windhelm was cold, and S'Zabe hadn't come in then more then what would be typical for a dock worker stopping in for regular trip.  
This was solved of course, the night before by planting a bag with their usual gear along the back walls of Windhelm, where there was ice and not much else. Tie it to a rope, and attach the end of that rope to a nice hook, and throw. And miss, actually, but S'Zabe didn't really mind, as they got it soon. The hook caught at the top of the wall, and S'Zabe gave it a good hard tug to make sure it was secure.

That, was how S'Zabe spent two days holed up in nooks and crannies in Windhelm. It. Was. Terrible. Khajiit's were not made for the cold. S'Zabe spent half the time curled up in a ball with a thick fur cloak with their back to chimney's, trying to nap. During the much colder nights, they had to pay attention to the guard patterns, so that was boring. Yes, they regularly made camp and slept in the wilds, but there was a difference to making camp and hiding on roofs. Roofs that dealt with wind. And snow. S'Zabe was honestly surprised they didn't lose a finger or two to frostbite, though that may have been over dramatic thinking, considering the multitude of thick furs and leathers making their hands less of hands and more of round, warm stumps. They're fingers after all, were a very important part of their continued success at their business. Their business being picking locks and pockets, and other general thievery.   
At the end of the two days, S'Zabe slipped back onto the streets in the dead of night, and robbed various people, warming up by the hearth fires in the houses of the unsuspecting during the course of the night, reading a book in the spare hours well they waited for their time to be up, and they were back onto the rooftops, bundled in furs as they slept the day away.

They terrorized Windhelm for a good two weeks, hitting both the targets they had collected from Vex and Delvin, and a whatever struck their fancy. Ofcourse, they didn't steal something everynight, but they did break in every night. It was a good time, over all, since they spent the majority of their nights now in houses of the sleeping victims, enjoying the fire, and slipping away into darkness whenever they heard movement, and felt it was time to move on for safety's sake.

By time they returned to Riften a few weeks after they had left, it was with Windhelm behind them in a general sense of paranoia. It felt rather good. 

 

S'Zabe was in the Flagon, having turned in their jobs and hashing out some exchanges with Tonilia, when Brynjolf came through, and gave a short call for the Khajiit. He motioned S'Zabe back over to the table where he originally sent them away at, so S'Zabe wasn't ashamed to say they sat down with a bit of hesitation. Turns out they were right to be hesitant, because as it turned out, Maven was asking for them. Though Brynjolf assured them it would be more gold in their pocket then daggers in their back, S'Zabe was still a bit apprehensive. Still, they had been summoned for work, and they would go.

The meeting took place at The Bee and The Barb, in the same little nook where they had first met Brynjolf. Maven was looking rather relaxed, picking at a plate of cheese and meats set on the table. S'Zabe sat in the chair opposite her, and when Maven looked up at them, they made a gesture for the woman to begin.

“So you’re the one….hmm. You don’t look so impressive.” She had a look of casual distaste, which S’Zabe partially expected, from her reputation.

“Let’s get to the job, yes?” S’Zabe pushed, having no desire to make pleasantries with the woman.

“Well, you’re a firebrand, aren’t you? About time Brynjolf sent me someone with business sense. I was beginning to think he was running some sort of beggars guild.” The joke was more biting than it was funny.

“You have little faith, I see.”

“Faith?” Maven chuckled. “I don’t have faith in anyone. Cause and effect is all that matters. Did the job get done and was it done correctly. There is no grey area.”

“Where does Khajiit begin, then?” It was time for actual business to be done.

 

The job, as it turned out, was ruining a meadery via pest extermination. S’Zabe would go in and offer assistance, and use that as an opening to administer the poison into the vat of mead. It sounded easy enough, though S’Zabe expected it wasn’t so. It never was, when it sounded simple.   
So, S’Zabe recharged their soul-collecting bow, made sure they had plenty of arrows, and descended into the depths of the meadery with the blessings of the man they would betray.

As expected, the job was fairly simple. Sneak about, kill a few skeevers with well placed arrows, curse quietly when they had to take down a shirtless madman who thought he could take over the world with skeevers. Then, put the extra skeever poison to the vats of mead, and try not to look to smug when the owner went to fill the barrel they would be serving the Commander with.

And hey, if they happened to steal every single bottle of mead in the whole place….well, they were just getting rid of product the Black-Briars wouldn’t need when they repurposed this place. The owner was a bit to distracted by the tasting to realize all his stock was gone, even behind the bar.

When the man was taken away to be put in change, and Maven’s man was put in charge, S’Zabe when back to the guild. It was back to work like normal, just like S’Zabe liked it.


	14. A Message

Work, was work, as always. Delvin sent them to Markarth to do some work, as he has some ears to the wall in Windhelm about a potential rival guild, and wanted more information. So, S’Zabe went to Markarth instead. The whole city seemed to be flustered on some matter or another, but Khajiit didn’t pay very much attention to anything other than the work they had to do. Unlike the constant reign of terror inflicted on Windhelm, S’Zabe did the work in Markarth slowly. Only a few jobs at a time, careful to break into the city from the mountains at night, so not to arise the suspicions of the guards. After all, Khajiit were such easy targets to pin theft on, given the stereotypes. S’Zabe being a living stereotype didn’t really matter, it was the principle of the thing.

Things went smoothly for a few weeks. Routine trips to and from Markarth, and then when Delvin found a good in, a special job for a Silversmith, reclaiming a mold for the man. The only other thing worth note from that mission, was an interesting little jewel, that Vex told them belonged to a collection that nobody had been able to reunite since it was taken apart. S’Zabe thought it would be a nice project to work on, to be honest.

Then, Delvin came to them with fire in his eyes and a job. The word was, a rival guild was starting up near Windhelm, and they were killing their clients. A man had actually tracked down a member, and gotten confirmation of the guild, which he gave to Delvin. In return, S’Zabe would go and get his daughters necklace back. That was the contact’s terms anyway. It was made clear to S’Zabe that eliminating the guild and making an example out of them was paramount. The Khajiit was more then happy to oblige.

 

 

The Summerset Shadows, a guild of Altmer thieves, was easy to find with the directions of an old fence of the guild’s. The two guards out front where stupidly easy to kill, drunk as they were. Drunk of their own ego’s, if you asked S’Zabe.   
The so called thieves in the icey cave tunnel’s were also easy to take out. One by one, they died choking silently on their own blood as S’Zabe carved a path of death through the cave. Two died in their beds, in what seemed to be a room off the main feasting area of the Shadows. A banner was displayed proudly in the center of the room. It made the fur on S’Zabe’s neck stand on end. 

The leader of the guild, an elf named Linwe, was in his own room. He was leaning against the wall, staring into the fire, smirking at the necklace in his hands. S’Zabe could crack the door open enough to get through, but turned invisible before they actually went through. They carefully placed themselves behind the elf, and took out a dagger. He had no idea that S’Zabe was behind him, once S’Zabe actually got there. Carefully applying a paralytic, S’Zabe struck out like a snake from the grass, carefully nicking the elf’s neck. Linwe stumbled forward, spinning around to see who attacked him before the poison sent him to the ground, the necklace bouncing off the ground as it fell. Stripping the elf down to his loincloth, and tying him up with some well knotted rope, only took two more applications of paralytic to do, as it wasn’t especially potent poison. A bundle of spare linen was stuffed in his mouth, to keep him quiet. Then, he was dragged out to where the banner was, and some more careful applications of chains taken from the prison cells found in the abandoned fort they were in, had each of the elf’s arms tied to a different pillar of stone. Some rummaging around, found a good bit of oil. The elf’s struggling against the stone pillar he was tied too grew more frantic as he was doused in all the oils. 

Finally, S’Zabe knelt in front of the elf, and removed the linen from his mouth.

“Let me go! I can make you richer than you could believe!” He tried, still attempting to pull his hands free from the rope used to tie them.

“This one doesn’t think so. The Guild doesn’t take lightly to upstarts, yes? Consider this a message.”

“I’ve got the damn message! Now let me go!”

S’Zabe chuckled, patting the elf’s cheek like he was a confused cub. “You have mistaken this one. You ARE the message.” They grinned, all teeth, before stepping away and tossing a lit torch into the elf’s lap.

He went up in flames, screaming horribly. The banner above him caught fire-as well, and burned much quicker than Linwe.

 

S’Zabe didn’t stay to watch. The smell of burning flesh was wretched, and the screams made their ears hurt. Besides, they had to throw up, and a barrel in a previous room made for good work of that. Killing was well and good, but torture was another thing. Hopefully they wouldn’t find a need to participate in such a thing ever again.

Still, the work was done.

A message was sent, found by a legion of guards who stormed the place following an anonymous tip. 

S’Zabe felt a little better to know that a few of those guards threw up as well.


End file.
